The Story About the Baby, Volume 17.

So what is that word for when everything is going great, and everyone
is calm and happy and complacent, and suddenly, almost overnight, everything
goes straight to hell and you have no idea what is going on with anything
anymore? What's that word again?

Oh yeah. "Teething."

There is a pleasing symmetry. Our darling little girl Cordelia is now
four months old. And she is growing four tiny teeth. And she sleeps four
hours a night. And her daddy is about to put her in the closet for four
weeks.

"Hey, little girl! This is what Mild Discomfort feels like!"

For the unaware, teething is the process by which the baby's first teeth
(20 in all) erupt through the gum into glorious life. This process causes
a constant, low level of discomfort. Now, when we grownups feel a constant
low level of discomfort, we bitch a little, pop some ibuprofen, and get
on with our lives.

Babies, on the other hand, are not so used to pain. And they are also
not known, in general, for bearing up under adversity with dignity and
stoic determination. And their clumsy, chubby little fingers can't get
an ibuprofen bottle open. So they cry and whine. A lot. And they sure
sleep a lot less.

One thing the little ones do to ease the discomfort is to grab something
(a plastic ring, ice cubes wrapped in a washcloth, a human nipple) and
chew the shit out of it. Sadly, our little girl is teething early, and
her teeth have outrun the use of her hands. So when she puts a teething
ring in her mouth and chomps down, she then forgets that she is supposed
to keep holding it there. She drops it, and mommy or daddy has to replace
it. When this process frustrates her enough, she starts screaming and
doesn't stop, giving us a great view of those cute little white nubs pushing
up from under the flesh, mocking us.

In olden days, frazzled parents would rub brandy or other strong liquor
on a teething baby's gums to ease the discomfort. In this modern age,
we are too delicate for such strong measures. My wife and I have been
splitting the difference and liberally applying this treatment to each
other.

Now I ask you. And, when I say "you", I mean a specific "you" who has
some knowledge of biology. Is there any species who gives birth to offspring
as hapless and useless as humans? Consider baby alligators. They are born
with teeth. Little, cute, sharp ones. And they certainly don't spend weeks
being reduced to reptilian basket cases learning to use those teeth. No,
they come out of the egg loaded for bear, ready to rend a teething ring
into tiny, yellow plastic bits bearing visible fragments of Snoopy and
Woodstock.

"Oh, that Jeff. He just doesn't like babies."

I know I am in for more hell from my relatives now, for describing babies
as "hapless" and "useless". Well they don't move, they can't bear getting
teeth, and sometimes they just stop breathing for no good reason. I love
my little girl. She is adorable beyond words. But she can barely move,
for God's sake! I'll soften my opinion on babies the moment they can wield
knives.

Fortunately, modern science has not left us high and dry regarding the
whole teething situation. Being truly the parents of the path of least
resistance, we dealt with this problem by going out and getting drugs.

Loadin' Her Up With the Drugz.

Verily, I say that we are the worst parents in the world. There is no
problem so minor or piddling that we can't find some way to weasel our
way out of it, doing incalculable harm to our daughter in the progress.
Pacifiers. Formula. Disposable diapers. Epidurals. We just suck.

And now the drugs.

Even for one as jaded and apathetic as myself, the putting baby to bed
process has become rather disturbing. First, I load her full of food.
Then I swaddle her. And then I get the baby Tylenol and give her a good
stiff shot of it. And then she goes off to Sleepyland, and I go off to
Daddyguiltworld.

The idea of medicating my daughter to make her quiet and pliable, even
with something as innocent as Baby Tylenol, is really depressing to me.
I mean, why stop there? Why not get little baby doses of Ritalin? It won't
get rid of the gum pain, but it'll drain the strength to object out of
her. Heck, I could give her Valium, but mommy and I are already taking
it all.

But, on the other hand, what right do I have to not drug her? I drug
myself as a matter of routine. If I was little, and having trouble sleeping
because I was in pain, and someone refused me the medication that would
provide a restful slumber, I would kick that person's ass. Or, at least,
I'd do as much ass-kicking as possible for someone 15 pounds and 19 inches
tall. Which, sadly, isn't much.

I suspect I'm overthinking this process. I'd just feel a lot better if,
at some point, I didn't just take the easy way out.

I think I'll buy her a pony.

Chompity Chomp Chomp.

Although the whining and bitching isn't so cute, she does have one really
adorable habit. Whenever one of my fingers gets anywhere hear her face,
she lurches out and chomps on it. Then she gnaws on it with her cute,
pink little gums. She's my widdle baba velociraptor.

Of course, I think this is great. My wife plays the same game, but with
her nipples. She has informed me that this habit is the opposite of cute.

Nobody thought it was possible for my wife to want to wean Cordelia more.
Oh, how wrong we were.

An Admittedly Excessive Response to 3 Out of 4 People We Have Told
That Our Daughter's Name Is Cordelia:

No. We have not yet though of any short versions of it. Not Delia, or
Dee, or Cor, or Lia. Her name is "Cordelia". Just "Cordelia". It is not
Welsh or Sanskrit. It is not in some weird African language with pops
and hissing noises. It is only four lousy syllables long. Is that so damn
hard to say? What are we? Fucking chimpanzees?

Oh! She's Gagging! It's soooo cuuuute!!!!!

According to What To Expect The First Year, some babies learn to cough
a lot early in life. The reason for this is that, when they cough, they
get picked up and comforted. Thus, they learn to cough to get attention.

This is why I love babies, for all their dopeyness. They do have a certain
ingenuity to them. They have very little to work with, but they leverage
it as best they can.

Cordelia will not end up like this, though. That is because she is completely
adorable when she coughs. I don't pick her up because I'm watching her.
First, she scrunches up her face, and then she sticks her little tongue
way out and rounds her mouth into a little O, and she makes this cute
"Keh! Keh!" noise. It makes me wish she had more phlegm in her lungs,
so I could watch her expel it. It's great.

Other Milestones

The other night, I wiped the very, very first booger off of her nose.
I should have saved it in the photo album, but we horrify our relatives
with the pictures in there as it is.

Now My Corpse Is Really Worth Something

Finally, my life insurance has happened. My death is now worth two hundred
and fifty thousand dollars to my loved ones. The agent patiently explained,
in so many words, that such a piddly amount would be seen as my survivors
as proof that I didn't love them very much. So, to any survivors who are
angry at me for this reason, I send you this message from beyond the grave:
bite my ass.

I had a small brain tumor removed when I was 19. Since then, I have had
no problems in this area. No symptoms, or handicaps, or other growths.
Yet, despite the 13 years between that event and now, it was trouble finding
someone who would give me a policy, and I have to pay a considerable extra
amount.

There is nothing that gives you an unnerving awareness of your temporary
status on this globe like having insurance salesmen (truly, not a shy
breed) look at you and go "Oh, I don't know. I just don't know."